


(Sentenced to) Drama for Life

by Ange_de_la_Mort



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: 90 percent of the focus is on the Hyuroi relationship in the first chapter, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Ed is 20, F/M, M/M, Maes Hughes Lives, Multi, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Roy is done with everything, Suicidal Thoughts, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 17:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14573856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ange_de_la_Mort/pseuds/Ange_de_la_Mort
Summary: When a joke gets out of hand, Hughes almost loses Roy forever. But it makes one hell of a story to tell.





	(Sentenced to) Drama for Life

“You!”  
  
It's the first thing he hears after somebody busts the door of his office wide open and it slams shut behind the intruder's back. Maes sighs and flips a page in his report portfolio without even raising his head. Just because he knows it will annoy whoever tries to annoy _him_.  
  
"Actually, it's _Hughes._ With an 's'. And _actually_ actually, I'd prefer people to _knock_ before they - oh. It's you." Because now he does raise his head to angrily stare his intruder down, to tell him it's not very smart to disturb him while he's working, that it's just bad behaviour. Even his daughter knows better and she's only eight! … then again, Elicia is a well-raised child and … ah, whatever.  
  
He's already opened his mouth in order to tell him some very nice things about manners and survival instincts, which are supposed to be followed by kicking him out of the office, but then he decides to just roll his eyes.  
  
Because it's not just _anyone_ who's right there in front of him, hands planted flat on his tabletop, staring him down – it's Ed. Ed, who is pouting and whose eyes shine with anger and some other expression that speaks of utter betrayal and horror and the strange sadness only a young adult can possess.  
  
"Yeah, damn right it's me!" Ed growls and slams his hands on the table once more, just because he can. And to show that he's in a really, really bad mood. As if Maes couldn't see that. "And I'm _this_ close to kicking you in the ass!" Before Maes can do much more than raise his eyebrows, before he can ask what he's supposedly done wrong, Ed raises a finger and points it right at him. He'd probably prod him in the chest or stab one of his eyes out if it weren't for the table between them. Maes is very glad about that table right now. "Why did you never warn me about your boyfriend being a giant bag of dicks?"  
  
" _My_ boyfriend?" Maes repeats slowly while trying to suppress a smile. "I thought he was _our_ boyfriend?"  
  
"What? No!" Ed huffs and grits his teeth. "When he fucks up, he's yours. You can keep him! Dig a hole and bury him if you want to, I don't care!"  
  
_Yeah, you totally don't._ Maes sighs again. He feels a medium-sized migraine coming, one that's about the size and shape of a very certain Elric brother. "Fine, how about we talk instead of shouting, Ed? _Before_ I bury him alive, if that's fine with you."  
  
"Talk? Are you kidding me?! Listen Hughes, I'm so close to punching _you_ in the face, too, for not preventing me from getting into a relationship with General Jerkface!"  
  
Now he can't resist a grin. Quickly, he waves it off before Ed has a chance to see it as a personal insult.  "Yes, yes, whatever. But Ed, come on, let's be honest with each other, you've known him for how long? Six years? Eight? You knew what you were getting into."  
  
"I didn't know I was about to date General Grumpface!"  
  
"Wasn't it 'Jerkface' just a second ago?"  
  
“Can you stop laughing? It's not funny! I'm fucking _livid_ , Hughes!“ Ed shouts and slams his hands on the table – again, for good measure (Maes is glad the wood is sturdy enough to withstand the abuse). „I've been away for _months_ , travelling all over the country, and then I come back to Central, and I only wanted to say hi to my boyfriend for a bit-“  
  
„Oh, so now he's _your_ boyfriend?“  
  
„ _Shut up, Hughes_!“ Ed snaps at him and Maes grins widely and he'd love to say that _Ed_ is the one who just keeps talking, but instead he just crosses his legs and leans back in his chair and gestures for Ed to go on. So Ed does. „As I said – before you rudely interrupted – I just wanted to hug my boyfriend for a bit. But do you know what he said as soon as he saw me? Do you have any idea, Hughes?“  
  
"Oh, am I allowed to speak now?"  
  
"Can you _stop grinning at me_? I'll swear to fuck, I'll turn you into a weasel!"  
  
It takes all of his self-control to not burst out into laughter. Instead, he takes a deep breath and nods slowly. "Okay. I'm sorry. What did he say to you, Ed?"  
  
"That he didn't have any time for me today." Ed looks at him. He looks like he feels so goddamn hurt. Most likely he really does feel hurt. "And that's ... that's okay, really. I know he has a lot of work to do. But you know what he said then? That he didn't want to see me tomorrow, either, and that, if I dared to annoy him, he'd incinerate me on the spot. The hell, Hughes? The fucking hell?"  
  
Ah. Tomorrow. Maes doesn't even have to check the calendar to see the issue. He sighs and gifts Ed with a placatory smile, even if smiling is a hard thing for him to do when the thought of tomorrow looms over him like a guillotine. "It's got nothing to do with you. Really. It's nothing personal. It's just ... tomorrow is a bad day for him."  
  
Ed's tumbles over his own words a little. "What?! It's Tuesday, Hughes! Fucking Tuesday! What have Tuesdays ever done to him?!"  
  
"It's ... it's not ... " Maes wants to sigh. To laugh. About the face Ed is pulling right now, a strange mix of confusion and anger; his brows are raised and his eyes wide, he's pursing his lower lip a little, shaking. Well, that's how it is now, with Ed added to this relationship, he thinks and realizes how he's suddenly taken over by exhaustion. He pinches the bridge of his nose and then he can't hold back a sigh. Before Ed gets the opportunity to yell at him again, he hurries to explain. "It's not about the day itself, Ed. It's the date." He hesitates. Should he talk about this? Does he have a _right_ to talk about this?  
  
A lot has happened on that day. Too much. Everything. Everything that Maes would just love to sweep underneath the rug. Keep it under lock and key – no, just throw away the key altogether because both of them have been idiots, mostly Maes. Because everything had almost gone completely wrong.  
  
Slowly he looks back at Ed and smiles helplessly, shrugs his shoulders. Well. It's a thing between the three of them, the thing with the relationship with Roy. So it's probably better to leave Ed not completely in the dark. The boy might get ideas like paying Roy an unannounced visit … and yes, it's not unlikely for Ed to be incinerated if he does that. "Tomorrow is the First of April."  
  
"Hughes, I know what a calendar is, so, unless you're the damn weather forecast, I really don't care."  
  
_Aren't you a blissfully young one?_ Maes thinks and internally rolls his eyes. "Ed, it's April Fool's."  
  
Slowly, realization dawns on Ed's face. He blinks. Twice. His forehead creases in a frown and the pout he shows this time isn't actually a pout, it's more like he's pondering. "Well, I guess the old bastard isn't too keen on that, sure. He doesn't have a single funny bone in his body, but-"  
  
"And,” Maes interrupts him, "I might have tried to prank him once. Yes, only once, yes, he still hates me for it, and yes - no, look, I can see you want to say something, please don't, I'm not done yet -, he has every right to hold that grudge. It was a stupid prank."  
  
Ed crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Sure, maybe, but-"  
  
"One that almost ended with Roy being dead."  
  
As dead as the silence that takes over the room. This room that's empty except for the two of them, so “as dead as all sounds Ed would like to make now” might be more appropriate. He's frozen in place, right as he's opened his mouth to interrupt Maes once again – now he closes it, swallows – Maes can hear it, can see his Adam's apple move. Then, Ed tries to speak again. Just two words, quiet and worried: “What happened?”  
  
Sometimes, Maes isn't quite sure of that himself.  
  
No, that's not it. He knows it very well. He just tries to push the thoughts to the very back of his mind because otherwise, they would devour him, the thoughts, the self-accusations, the way Roy always avoids him on the first of April.  
  
“Well,” he says carefully, tastes the word on his tongue, testing, examining. “Well, it was six years ago …”  
  
-  
  
It's late. Way too late. To be precise, it's the middle of the night, but how could he be precise when his thoughts have been running in circles for hours and he just can't come to a conclusion? … which isn't all that surprising when he's running in circles, that makes it hard to reach an end or a goal, instead he just ends up exactly where he started and-  
  
It's horrible. Makes him want to tear his hair out.  
  
Maes rolls over with a sigh, leaving the shielding circle of warmth Gracia is radiating next to him, to lie on his back and angrily stare at the alarm clock. The middle of the night. Well, that's at least something he was right about, because it's five past three in the morning and if this continues, he'll be completely worn out the next morning and fall asleep on top of his paperwork and his protocols, just like Roy always does. … which is too bad, since Roy is his problem. The riddle he has to solve. The eternal question of “what now?” that he's been mulling over in his head for hours on end without coming to a solution and-  
  
Gracia grumbles in her sleep and feels around on the bed for him. From the corners of his eyes, in the dim light of the street lamp outside their bedroom window, Maes can see her frown in her sleep, because he's next to her, but not as close as usual, hip to hip, skin on skin. She immediately notices something is wrong, something is different.  
  
She's beautiful like that. Of course, she's always beautiful, even as she blearily opens her eyes. The light reflects off of them when she looks at him, sleepy and confused. “... Maes?”  
  
He smiles back at her, just as tired, and takes her hand in his, squeezing softly. “Sorry, I didn't want to wake you up.”  
  
Her voice is quiet, she's slurring the words a little. It's adorable. Even the crease between her eyebrows is, the one that's back again now that she has noticed what time it is. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"It's not like you to be up at this time unless something's wrong,” she mumbles and yawns. Slowly, she stretches, sprawling out her legs underneath the sheets. Maes can surmise all of her curves under the fabric, knowing the way she tenses her feet and curls her toes. Simultaneously, she stretches  her arms above her head and the sheet slips a little, showing a bit of naked skin that Maes has a hard time tearing his eyes away from.  
  
She's beautiful like that. She's simply beautiful.  
  
And Maes is tired and an idiot and shouldn't have woken her just because of a stupid thought, of the stupid need for an even more stupid thing. And that's exactly what he tells her, but she just waves it off.  
  
"Tell me what it is,” she insists. "The sooner I know, the sooner we can brainstorm together. And the sooner we can go back to-" She is interrupted by her own yawn, so hearty and unexpected she doesn't even manage to cover her mouth.  
  
Maes smiles at her. He really just wants to tell her it's _nothing_ , but they both know that's not true and the more intensely Maes denies it, the higher is the chance of Gracia actually getting worried or assuming the worst; something bad he has to keep secret from her, either to protect her or because he doesn't believe she can deal with whatever it is.  
  
And as soon as a woman thinks like this of a man, said man might as well shoot himself, that would be more harmless and more effective, more merciful than the wrath he brings upon himself.  
  
So Maes just shrugs and points at the clock. "You know what day it is?"  
  
"Right now? It's night, Maes. Not day."  
  
He chuckles. "That's not what I meant, my darling. It's ... you know, it's the first of April."  
  
She tilts her head, tired and slowly. Then he can see how the gears in her head start turning, how the pieces assemble and how the crease between her brows gets even deeper. Suddenly she sits up straight, the sheet slips into her lap. She scrambles to grab it and cover herself. "Maes, no."  
  
It takes him a second to reply, because the image does distract him momentarily. "Huh?” is all he can say. A stupid, confused noise that fits a stupid, confused man like him.  
  
"Maes, no,” she repeats very slowly. "Tell me you're not thinking about new ways to prank Elicia and me."  
  
"What? No! I'd never!" That's a lie and they both know it. He's done it already. He'd do it again.  
But one time, Elicia cried because she was too small to understand pranks – and how could she? She was too small to do anything except chuckle and sob -, and then Gracia was looking at him like _that_ and it had Maes wish for a hole to appear and the ground to swallow him. Since then, he's stopped pulling pranks on them.  
  
However, since Gracia is looking at him like _that_ again, he hurries to say: "I want to prank _Roy_."  
  
"Oh no,” is all Gracia says, sinking back into the pillows. "This is going to be horrible."  
  
Maes rolls over onto his side, resting himself on his elbow. "What? Come on, it's gonna be fun! I've never tried that before, and he's been my boyfriend for almost eight years now! It's time for him to get pranked!"  
  
"It will be horrible,” Gracia mumbles again and closes her eyes. "We will now both pretend that I'm asleep, Maes. We will not be talking about you being unfair to Roy."  
  
"But if we work together, we can think of something great!"  
  
"You mean something double horrible?" The corners of her mouth are twitching involuntarily.  
  
He smiles at her and caresses her cheek, tracing her lower lip with a thumb. "Oh, don't be like that. You know it'll be something completely harmless. Something so over the top he'll believe it for ten minutes and then we can all have a laugh about it." He snaps his fingers as he comes up with an idea: "How about you call him and tell him I died in my sleep? And when he comes over to check on you, I'll jump out of a cupboard!"  
  
"And give him a heart attack."  
  
"Gracia, he's twenty-seven. People don't have heart attacks when they're just twenty-seven."  
  
"Fine,” she says with a sigh. "Then you'll scare him into incinerating you. Is that what you want, Maes? Leaving me a widow with a two year-old girl?"  
  
Hastily and lovingly and the same time, he squeezes her hand and gives her a peck on the cheek. "Love, I will _never_ leave you, you should know you won't get rid of me."  
  
"Sadly, yes. I've tried. Oh, I've tried."  
  
Now both of them are laughing and Maes pulls her into his arms. "Fine then, nobody dies tomorrow. But it needs to be equally ridiculous." He ponders for one moment, then for another. Then he buries his nose in her hair and smiles. "How about I break up with him?"  
  
"Does it really have to be something cruel?"  
  
"He's known me for a third of his life, he knows I'll never leave him alone."  
  
"... maybe."  
  
"Believe me, it will be _good_. I'll call him later and tell him. Then I skip work, spend a nice day with you two and when I hop over to the office, I'll invite Roy for dinner and some drinks and let him lecture me about how he'd seen through me immediately. It's a good plan!"  
  
She hesitates for a second. "But if he calls and asks me, I'll tell him the truth."  
  
"Sure! But he won't! Roy's is a smart idiot!"  
  
It's a good plan. No, it's a _great_ plan.  
  
-  
  
The next morning, the phone rings quite a few times before he feels awake enough to sort his limbs and slide off the bed, not to mention slump downstairs and to the phone. He doesn't have to pick it up to know it's probably Roy, wanting to complain about Maes not being at work yet.  
  
For somebody who spends 99% of his time procrastinating, Roy is damn set on everybody else doing their work. Maybe so he himself looks busier than he actually is. It's strange, shouldn't that have the exact opposite effect? If it's obvious how hard everyone is working, it should be even more obvious that Roy isn't … doing anything. It should be. But it isn't. It's probably one of those things where Roy is too clever to let himself get caught.  
  
One more reason to prank him today, Maes thinks as he looks at the clock, yawns and shrugs his shoulders despite being able to see very well that it's already way past nine. Today is a special day. Today he's allowed to do that.  
  
He lets out another heartfelt yawn before grabbing the handset and dialing Roy's number. He knows it by heart, has called Roy too many times when he couldn't sleep or when he was worried about Gracia's pregnancy or when he was just bored and wanted to see if Roy was working overtime again because he didn't bother doing his paperwork during normal work hours or because there are fewer people at Central Command who could distract him in the evening and at night or just because he doesn't have a family or any real friends except Maes because sometimes, he's just unbearable and it takes a lot of time to find out what a lovable, caring idiot Roy Mustang can be; time that the average person doesn't want to invest in him – Maes can't really blame anyone for that.  
  
Whatever. Maes calls Roy's office number and isn't really surprised that someone picks up the phone after the very first ring, even if that gives him less time to think about his script. … ah well. Time to improvise.  
  
“Where are you?” is the first thing Roy says and Maes can almost hear him pinching the bridge of his nose, voice rough and irritated.  
  
Well then … here we go …  
  
“Hey. Nice to hear you, too.”  
  
"Hughes, for fuck's sake, do you have any idea what time it is?"  
  
Oh, cursing already? Must be a good day in Central Command. What a coincidence that Maes "spontaneously" decided to take the day off. "I'm aware."  
  
"Then why aren't you here? Did you spend the night creeping around your daughter's bed and watching her sleep?"  
  
Maes huffs quietly. He only does that sometimes and Roy should know that. He pouts a little, takes a deep breath and says: "No. I just thought it would be better if ... if I'm not doing this in person." Because he wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. Because he'd start laughing, shaking his head about himself, because he'd wrap his arms around Roy and kiss his temple, just like he always does when Roy looks even the slightest bit upset.  
  
“What's wrong? Your family all right?” He sounds worried, and Maes smiles. That's exactly what he meant when he'd been thinking about what an adorable idiot Mustang can be.  
  
“No. I mean yes. I mean … that's not it.” He takes a deep breath, a dramatic pause that he uses to think about what to say next. “Roy, I … you know that Elicia just had her second birthday.”  
  
“... yes?”  
  
"And I ... I feel like I'm spending too much time away from her. From her and Gracia. I want to see my girl grow up."  
  
"Maes, what the hell are you talking about, you literally spend every waking moment-"  
  
Maes interrupts him before he can turn it into a laughing matter, licks his lips to say something he could never ever be serious about. "It means that I have to decide how to spend the time I'm not at work. And I have decided that my family is the most important thing for me.”  
  
It's quiet between the two of them. So quiet, one could hear a pin drop. He can almost see Roy, the way he slowly understands, the way his expression changes from confusion to sadness. Maes does feel a little bad about it – but it's just a joke. He's not going to let him suffer for too long. “... so you. You mean ...”  
  
"I'm breaking up with you. And I didn't want to see your face when telling you. This is why I'm not at work today, Roy."  
  
"... Maes, I-"  
  
"No. I'm sorry, Roy. This isn't easy for me, just like it isn't easy for you, but we have to end this. I'm your friend. Always been, always will be. But I don't think we'll be spending time outside of work with each other anymore."  
  
He can hear how Roy swallows and wonders if he isn't taking this a bit too far when Roy replies: "Maes, it's been eight years. We've been ... eight years, Maes. You can't just-"  
  
"It's a long time, I know. But I guess love gets kinda used up in eight years. I've been thinking about this for a while, Roy. It's just ... it's not the same anymore. Between us. Not with Elicia around." It's so over the top. It's so ridiculous. He loves every second of it. "You know that's just who I am. If have to choose between you and my family, you know my answer."  
  
"I always have", Roy mumbles quietly (and Maes won't understand what exactly he means by that until much, much later). "I ... understand."  
  
"I'm glad. Thank you, Roy. I'll come to the office later in the afternoon to collect some of my stuff. It's better for both of us if I work at home for the next few days."  
  
Roy hangs up without saying another word and Maes blinks a few times, stares at the handset. And grins.  
That must've been the moment Roy understood he was being pranked. The moment, when Roy would feel like an idiot for five minutes and then will move on to planning his revenge.  
  
Maes is looking forward to it. He loves it when he can see the fire burn in Roy's eyes when he's plotting something. He loves it when Roy is a worthy foe in these things.  
  
He can't wait to see his face.  
  
-  
  
He spends the rest of the day with his family. He surprises Gracia with breakfast in bed, plays with Elicia and realizes once more how lucky he is having these wonderful women at his side.  
  
When Gracia puts their daughter back in her cradle for her afternoon nap, Maes hugs her from behind and kisses her hair. “Hey,” he murmurs and sighs against her, inhaling her scent.  
  
“Hey yourself.” She tilts her head backwards and looks up to him from half-lidded eyes. She's smiling softly. “So you're off to work?”  
  
“Not yet,” he hums and hugs her more tightly. “It's barely past noon.”  
  
"It's two in the afternoon, Maes."  
  
"Barely past noon,” he repeats and plants a kiss to her forehead. "I've been thinking about going out for lunch? If you want to? And if we can bribe the neighbour's daughter into babysitting Elicia for an hour or two."  
  
"That sounds ... nice. We haven't done anything for ourselves in a while." She sighs at the thought and smiles again, this time it looks tired and exhausted. The two years with Elicia are the most wonderful ones in their shared life, but the most exhausting ones as well. "But don't you think you should free Roy from his suffering?"  
  
"He hasn't called, yet."  
  
"No, and that worries me."  A fold appears between her eyebrows, similar to the one he knows from Roy when he's pondering, when he has thoughts in his mind that Maes wants to expel, that he wouldn't want to waste a second on.  
  
Maes waves her worries off. "It's Roy, darling. I bet he's patrolling in front of my office like a guard dog, waiting for me to set foot into the building so that he can kick my ass and bite me in the leg or something."  
  
"You'd deserve it."  
  
"Yeah, yeah." He laughs and turns her around in his embrace so he can kiss her on the cheek and on the lips. "All the more reason for me to stay away for a little longer." Gracia looks at him skeptically, and before she can say anything, Maes lowers his voice and growls in her ear: "If you don't feel like going out, I know a multitude of things we can do just next door, in bed. "  
  
"Oh," is all she says. She shivers in his arms.  
  
Maes makes sure to make good use of his newfound free time.  
_It's a good day_ , he thinks.  
__  
  
It's already past four o'clock when he finally decides to pay Central Command a visit. Roy still hasn't called. Roy hasn't come by to yell at him either.  
  
By now, Maes thinks that's a bad sign, because that means Roy is waiting for him. In the office. In his own or in Maes', that doesn't matter in this case. It just means he's waiting. And everyone knows that Roy Mustang doesn't like _waiting_ ; it's not as if he's a particularly impatient person, no, Roy already knows when to wait and see things, but he also hates sitting around idly. That's why Maes knows his butt will be toast as soon as he enters the office - _his or Roy's_. Because now Roy has had all day to get into the matter, to think about the stupid joke.  
  
Enough time to get angry because Maes is joking about stuff like that.  
  
Enough time to think about actually breaking up, because he wants to pay Maes back.  
  
Enough time to ... oh, goddamn it, to make Maes stark-raven mad and make him beg and plead. And he deserves it, okay? He deserves it. At least he'd say that if Roy asked him. Actually, he still thinks that it was funny and that Roy just does not have a single funny bone in his body and - well, maybe he does. Maybe they'll laugh about it right away. Everything is possible.  
  
He just thinks about it because he wants to procrastinate, but now it's too late, he's here now and will stand his ground and greet Roy with the brightest smile he can ever muster! Yes, that's what he's gonna do!  
  
At least, that's the plan.  
  
The practice looks different, because Maes does hesitate as he stands in front of the door to his own office and considers whether he can dare to put his fingers on the door handle, or whether Roy has heated the metal so much that Maes will run around with blisters on his hand for weeks as a punishment. He hesitates a little longer, pursing his lips. And then pulls the fabric of his uniform over his hand before he reaches for the handle and presses it down.  
  
... it's locked.  
  
Huh.  
  
But Roy definitely has a key, which means he hasn't been here yet and has neither turned his office upside down nor burned his file folders nor done anything else that would put Maes in the awkward situation of explaining every last bit of chaos to his supervisor. Fine. That's good. What's less good is the fact means Roy has the home-field advantage of his own office on his side.  
  
Maes drops his shoulders and sighs softly as he turns on his heel and paces the corridors to Roy's office, his hands buried deep in his pockets.  
So, no wrath. Just begging.  
  
Well, if it has to be that way ...  
  
He doesn't feel the need to knock, because he knows that Roy is already expecting him. So why not barge into the Salamander's Den and get it over with?  
  
So he opens the door and sticks his head into the room. "Hey, Roy, I ... uhm." He trails off and frowns, wondering if maybe he got the doors confused and managed to wind up somewhere completely different.  
  
Because there is a glaring absence of Roy in this office.  
  
It's empty.  
  
Well, not exactly empty. Not completely. At one of the smaller tables, Lieutenant Hawkeye is perched over a bunch of files. When she looks up at him, her eyes grow cold, her gaze darkens. Uh-oh. Someone doesn't seem to have a good day.  
  
Maes enters the room completely and closes the door behind him, greeting her with a nod of his head. "Hey, uh, Lieutenant. Good afternoon. I ... don't suppose you've seen the Colonel?" he asks, brows raised in confusion.  
  
Her cold gaze doesn't waver in the slightest. If he didn't know better, he'd almost say she's openly angry. At least her eyes are angry. But they often are, maybe it has nothing to do with him, maybe-  
  
"And why would _you_ want to know?" she drawls, and Maes notices that it does have something to do with him. He also notices that he is in a lot of trouble, apparently.  
  
"Well, I-"  
  
"If you _must_ know," she finally says and slams the thick file close, the sudden noise hanging in the air between them like a knife, "he left. This morning. Right after your _call_."  
  
Oh. Oh, no. That can't be happening. Maes swallows hard and grits his teeth. "Don't tell me-"  
  
" _Also_ , Lieutenant-Colonel," she interrupts him and gets to her feet, regarding him coldly. "I am not one to eavesdrop, but I couldn't overhear your conversation."  
  
Fuck. "Listen, Hawkeye, I-"  
  
"And whatever I may think of your strange arrangement, I know that it might be none of my business." She tucks the file under her arm. "But I also know that only a despicable person would discuss these matters via phone."  
  
" _Hawkeye_ , listen for a second, will you?" he urges, voice louder than planned. She looks at him, her eyes cold and dangerous, her mouth a thin line. Maes runs a hand through his hair and lets out a sigh. "I didn't want ... I didn't mean to ... "  
  
"I am listening, Lieutenant-Colonel. I don't hear anything that is worth my time." With slow, deliberate steps she passes him and opens the door, only to stop in the doorframe. "If you'd had any decency," she tells him quietly, "then you'd have looked him in the face while breaking up with him. Because I have seen that look on his face before. And so have you. He looked just like he did back then in Ishval."  
  
__  
  
_Shit_.  
  
That is a very good thought.  
  
_Fuck_.  
  
Yes. That one, too. Very fitting, right now.  
  
Maes is still standing there in Roy's office for a moment before he actually understands what he just heard. By now, Hawkeye is long gone, and the one or two people passing by the open door look at him as if he's a fish on dry land. Which is, well, quite accurate, because right now he surely doesn't merely look like a complete idiot, he also is one. A very, very big one.  
  
Recap: He made a dumb joke. Roy obviously took it seriously. So seriously that he left work directly afterwards and headed home. With a look on his face as if he was back at the war.    
  
Conclusion: He, Maes Hughes, is the biggest idiot in all of Central, maybe even in all of Amestris.  
  
Conclusion number two: He's got to find Roy. Like, right this instant.  
  
That's why he finally closes his mouth and turns on his heel to rush out of the building.  Usually, it takes him just a little over five minutes to get from one end of Central Command to the parking space and to his car.  
  
Today it only takes him two.  
  
__  
  
_Shit!_  
  
Has he already said that? He has, hasn't he?  
  
Anyway, it's a good thought.  
  
One that haunts his mind all the time, again and again, especially now that he's standing in at Roy's front door and does not know what to do. He just ran up the stairs, almost fell over when his feet and the stairs didn't match up, and breathes heavily, his hands on his knees. Damn. He takes the two or three seconds to catch his breath, but not the ten or twenty he would need to straighten his clothes. Then he raises his hand and lets it crash down on the cheap wood.  
  
Once.  
  
Twice.  
  
Again and again.  
  
"Roy? Hey, Roy!"  
  
Nothing. No Answer. No light under the door. Almost as if everything was dead. As if Roy had never been here, or at least not since the early morning. Even so, Maes bangs on the door a few more times and calls Roy's name just to make sure.  
  
The door to the apartment next door opens and an old woman sticks out her head, one of the kind that would do damn well on the Investigations team. One who misses nothing. Nobody. No one who enters or leaves the house, gets a secret visit at night or doesn't go down deep enough on his knees to clean the staircase. She looks Maes up and down with small, piercing eyes, a white eyebrow rises slowly. "What's with the noise ?!"  
  
"I ..." Breathe. Fucking breathe, Maes. "My apologies. I didn't want to disturb-"  
"Well, you _did_ , boy." She squints at him a little. "You're one of those good-for-nothing types, too, are not you?"  
  
He blinks, unsure which of the questions he should answer first. And if he should even answer any of them. Normally, he is a polite man, but right now he just wants to tell her to get out of the way, to stop annoying him. He has more important things to ... oh. He blinks. "Ma'am, my sincere apologies," is what he says then, channeling his most charming personality. "I am ... looking for my friend. Have you seen him today?"  
  
She puts a hand on the door frame, pale and small and wrinkled and almost a claw, greedy and inquisitive about everything that happens in this house. She snorts softly. "Seen? I'm glad when I do not have to. That boy has no manners, none at all!"  
  
... damn, would have been too good to be true.  
  
“But I've heard him. Hard no to, with all the door-slamming. No manners, really."  
  
Maes bites down on his lower lip. "Can you tell me when he came back?"  
  
At first she hesitates, then puts a clawed finger to her bloodless lips. She seems to sense that something is going on here, something she can tell at her next coffee party of the old spying fishwives. "Well ..." she starts slowly, delaying her answer a bit (of course, Maes sits on red-hot coals, even though he knows that's exactly what she wants). "It was half past nine, actually. I wasn't snooping around, you know?" Of course not. "I was just polishing the door." She gestures at the barely opened door, and Maes thinks that nothing ever has been polished in this house. "The boy came in and stormed out again some minutes later. Did something happen?" she asks with a flicker of hope in her voice that makes Maes shiver and step back a bit.  
  
"No. No, it's just ... "  
  
"It's about a woman, isn't? It's always about women with you young lads."  
  
"Well, uhm ... "  
  
"I know that. I've been the subject of quite a few broken hearts in my younger years."  
  
Yeah, sure. "I, uh ... thank you very much, Ma'am," he mumbles and makes sure to retreat before she can tell him her whole life story or try to show him the remains of her sex appeal.  
  
And then, he flees the building.  
  
__  
  
Back in his car, Maes leans head back against the headrest and closes his eyes for a few long breaths. Well, that's gone much, much worse than necessary. Like. All of it. Much worse. Fuck it all.  
  
Shut up and focus! he tells himself and sighs, frustrated about himself, about the situation, about Roy.  
  
It should have been nothing more than a silly joke, but now he is stuck here, stuck with having to search all of Central for this idiot. He really hasn't imagined today to be like this, at all. It shouldn't have been like this. Nothing should have …  
  
Yes, well, no matter. That's the way it is now, there's no point in wailing and moping, just because Roy has about as much humor as a freshly slaughtered chicken. Or rather, he only has reason to mope because Gracia has been right, and although he loves his wife above all, he hates it when she's right and he is not. He imagines her looking at him, arms on her hips and then looking at him _like that_. And then she'll say, "I don't want to say I told you so, but I told you so", and _that_   is actually what Maes hates the most. Because she's known better and he has gone on and done his shit anyway. Because he's the only one to blame that Roy's gone, sitting somewhere in Central, and Maes has no clue where he ...  
  
Although ...  
  
He sits upright and rubs his chin with one hand, frowning deeply. And then he rolls his eyes and steps on the accelerator, because at least he's gotten an idea of where to start the search.  
  
Good news: He can guess where Roy is. He's been home, he's taken something with him, he's stormed out again. Must have been his wallet. Everyone - at least everyone important, like Maes - knows that Roy likes to drink when he's stressed. Often, Maes accompanies him to make sure Roy's liver survives, to get him back home, to be the shoulder Roy can cry on when the memories of Ishval refuse to drown in cheap liquor.  
  
Bad news: There are a _crapload_ of bars in Central.  
  
Some of them are more prestigious, though. More expensive. And while Roy likes to show off sometimes with his stars and stripes and shiny boots, those places are the ones he frequents when he wants to take a drink. Not the ones he goes to when he wants to _drink_.  
  
The problem with that, though, is that there's a whole bunch of bars in which Roy has learned and perfected the art of drinking. A whole bunch of bars, which Maes will now be forced to stick his head in to keep his boyfriend from becoming too drunk and making an ass out of himself, even if he has to throw him over his shoulder and bring him home with brute force.  
  
He thinks for a moment, goes through the map in his mind and draws imaginary circles around the bars that come into question, crossing out some others. Because he knows that Roy won't drink close to his apartment, that would be too easy. Too easy for Maes, or anyone else who would want to find him. At the same time he can be sure that Roy is not in the outskirts. The way back would be too far, because Roy is like a damn stubborn donkey who always refuses to take a cab when he's drunk. "Blah blah, the air is good for me, this way I won't get a hangover, blah, we just ignore that the next morning I will be looking like a freshly exploded squirrel and feel that way, too!"  
  
What a pinnacle of responsibility, this Roy Mustang. Right? Right!  
  
In any case, despite all the elimination attempts from Maes' side, there are still about thirty pubs left, twenty if he considers the opening hours, because most pub owners in Central assume that you are either a respectable person with a day job that will make you able feed yourself and your family, pay rent and drink a lot, but only late in the evenings ... or a vile crook, and, well, those only dare to come out of their holes as soon as the good, honourable citizens have come back from their pub crawls and are already lying in bed. Twenty pubs, then.  
  
Maes has been snooping through nineteen of them in the last two hours, because it's always the case that what you're looking for is in the very last place that you look. It's the same with Maes' glasses, with his car keys, with all his belongings, one of which is called Roy. Although he has to admit that, sometimes, on the scale of one to a used tissue, the tissue wins. He loves this man, but damn, is he good at giving Maes something like an aneurysm.  
  
And obviously he's not only good at giving one to Maes, because as soon as he gets out of the car - the sun has already set and Maes blinks in the dim light of the street lamps - and pushes open the door to pub number twenty, he's already grabbed by the wrist before he can do much more than flinch in surprise.  
  
He recognizes the figure, who has grabbed him by the arm, as the barkeeper, a tall man in his forties, with the first grey hairs at his temples and his small eyes that are always a little glassy from the increased consumption of his own drinks. "Well, fuck me," says the barkeeper, and Maes just wants to tell him that he really does not intend to, as the man continues: "Thank fuck one of you guys came! Are you here to take him with you?”  
  
"Him?" Maes asks, even though he already knows who's being talked about here. His mood increases dramatically. Finally! He's found Roy! And when the barkeeper nods his head in one direction, Maes follows his gaze and ... ah. Well. So much for the good mood. That one has just fucked off and left nothing more than a heavy, leaden lump in his stomach.  
For yes, really, Roy is here. Almost hidden behind a pillar, but Maes can see the uniform he's still wearing, the mess of jet black hair Maes loves to card his fingers through.  
  
But he can also see the multitude of empty glasses in front of Roy.  
  
With a quiet curse on his lips, he turns his attention back to the barkeeper. "If he disturbs you that much, why haven't you thrown him out already?"  
  
"Are you crazy?" the other man hisses and keeps looking at Maes as if he was ... well, exactly that. "He's a paying customer, you don't say no to those! Also ... you don't say no to someone with a gun, at least not if you have any brains left."  
  
" _What_?!" Maes curses once more and lowers his voice. "He threatened you with a gun?"  
  
"What? No! Are you cra- yeah, I guess you are."  
  
"We've already been there, man, stop wasting my time and tell me what happened!"  
  
The barkeeper looks at him out of tiny eyes. "He didn't threaten anyone, he just stormed in and demanded a drink, and then five more. And ever since then he's been drinking and petting this gun of his as if it's a girlie he loves." He shrugs his shoulders "Guess he's busy tonight, but not with me, no sir, I don't think one of those bullets has my name on it. You don't shoot the guy who supplies you with fine quality whiskey, no sir!"  
  
Maes has already stopped listening. The lump in his stomach has only grown in size and weight, effectively trying to bring him down to his knees.  
  
For he knows only too well who Roy Mustang intends to shoot this evening.  
  
His eyes glance over to Roy, who has slumped down over one of far too many glasses. Right now, there is nothing left of the proud idiot who always manages to get his shit together, who never allows himself to have a breakdown, who hasn't had such a breakdown at all ever since ...  
  
Since ...  
  
"Also, there's a third reason," the barkeeper babbles on and holds four fleshy fingers up. "'cause, you know, if a man comes in here at ten in the morning and demands drinks, he really has it bad. It's my duty as a law-abiding citizen to-"  
  
" _Shut up_!" Maes hisses and finally shoves the hand holding him in an iron grip away. "Stay away. I'm gonna handle this!"  
  
Out of the corners of his eyes he can see the barkeeper performing a mock salute. He's too tired to correct his stance. Instead, he slowly makes his way over to his idiot boyfriend.  
  
The closer he gets to him, the more horrible Roy looks. Maes can see the dark shadows under his eyes. Or maybe it's just the dim light in the pub that casts its shadow over Roy as if it wants to swallow him (if it does, it does a damn impressive job). They're not alone in the room, of course not, because it's past eight in the evening, and quite a few people just want to have a drink or three, but to Maes, it feels like all conversations are fading just as soon as he gets to stand besides Roy. Maybe it really is that way. Maybe they've been watching him, talking about him, about the poor idiot who has wasted the day away trying to drown his worries. Maybe now they only want to see if there's any resolution, if the idiot with the gun and the alcohol lunges at the idiot without these two things. That would be nice, wouldn't it? Better than going to see a play.  
  
But Roy doesn't notice him, or at least he's very good at pretending he doesn't. So Maes merely takes a deep breath and reaches for a second chair to slump in, close enough for him to touch Roy's hand if he wants to. He does. Want to. He wants to gently steer Roy's hand away from the glass he's holding like a life-saver, wants to hold Roy's hand in his own and apologize, wants to explain everything so that they can finally have a good laugh about it.  
  
He does not dare touching him at all.  
  
Because Roy slowly raises his head, and Maes can see Ishval in his eyes.  
  
For one long instant, they are both young again, not even twenty, only holding hope in their hearts and minds, wishes and dreams and ambition. Another long instant, they are both tired, but don't dare to sleep because the dreams have turned to nightmares, because in their hearts there is nothing left but the wish of going back in time and making sure no war ever happens at all. Hope has made way for resignation, and the monster born out of their ambition rears its ugly head.  
  
Maes has managed to lock the monster up, so very deep inside him, inside his very being, just like he has sworn to do. Has managed to keep it far away from Gracia and Elicia and himself.  
  
Roy, on the other hand, is imprisoned in his own darkness, armed with nothing but a torch that lights the way to a better future. He guards this torch with teeth and nails, for he knows that the monster inside him only waits for this light to weaver even the slightest, tiniest bit.  
  
And Maes has accidentally managed to blow this damn light out like a candle.  
  
He can see Ishval in Roy's eyes, everything that Ishval has made him become. All those times when Roy has clutched his gun in his hands, held it to his temple, under his chin, stuck it in his mouth in the faint hope that at least the redeeming bang will make him see the light one last time.  
  
Bile rises in his throat. He barely manages to swallow it back down.  
  
"... hey," he says instead. And then once more. "Hey."  
  
If it was the same as usual, Roy would smile now, at least a little bit. Would perhaps roll his eyes and say "hey, yourself", like it's their own little routine. Of course Roy doesn't do any of that now. Instead, he looks at Maes with red-rimmed eyes and snorts, clutching the glass tightly enough for Maes to fear it might shatter in his hand. "The fuck're you doing here?" he asks, lulling the words.  
  
Maes does not have the heart to count the glasses. He knows what's happened, anyway: Roy has turned up here and dumped the first shot of whiskey without blinking, then the second, and maybe the third, before he's started to drink slowly, sipping on the liquor while thinking stupid thoughts. He hasn't merely taken his wallet out of his apartment, no, he's also brought the gun, which has been tucked away heavily and reassuringly in the inner pocket of his jacket. He's probably been thinking about going back to Central Command - after one or two glasses - and getting ready to go to the shooting gallery, imagining every target to be Maes to blow off some steam.  
  
That would have been alright. Maes knows that Roy would never hurt him, just like Roy would never hurt the rest of his team, even though he likes to be ruthless and relentless. Maes knows that because they both have wanted to beat each other within an inch of their lives, just to beat the idiocity out of each other's stupid, drunk ass.  
Yes, that would have been alright. But then the alcohol has come and then the light in Roy's eyes has started to flicker, and the monster in his brain has whispered to him that the trigger of Roy's gun could be his one and only friend from now on. The one to end it all. To make it easier. Much more final. That Ishval would always be with him, and that he would now have to go alone on his way to a new future without someone to help him carry the torch and escape from the darkness.  
  
Maes knows, with a certainty that takes his breath away and makes his stomach turn, that he would have lost Roy that night if he hadn't found him here.  
"I'm here ... " he begins, but words fail him, his tongue feels thick and heavy, his throat is tight with unshed tears."We need to talk."  
  
"Don't wanna talk to you," Roy growls, waving his hand, which still holds the glass. A bit of alcohol spills over his fingers and onto the table. Roy looks at the liquid and frowns. "Just fuck off, Hughes."  
  
_Hughes_ ...  
  
That's who he is sometimes. When they aren't alone, when they have to distance themselves from each other, pretend they're nothing but colleagues. When they are mad at each other. Whenever everything goes down the drain and shit hits the fan, like now, then he is not Maes, but Hughes. Then he isn't the one who holds Roy in his arms and promises him (with a certainty that sometimes he himself cannot believe) that everything will get better. Then he's the one who calls Roy a complete fucking idiot and kick him in the ass when Roy fucking Mustang drowns in self-pity.  
  
Like right now.  
  
So now Maes is Hughes and takes the glass off him with a gentle but definite grip. "We will talk, Roy," he says, ignoring the weak, besieged protests. "We will talk and you will listen, and I will take _that_ as well." His fingers close around the gun lying on Roy's lap, and before Roy can react - which is not difficult at the moment, truth to be told - he has taken it from him and put it in his belt.  
The silence between them lasts a few seconds. Then Roy says quietly: "So you're taking that away from me, too?"  
  
"You've had enough," Hughes responds firmly.  
  
"'s not your decision."  
  
"For now it is."  
  
Roy's fingers twitch as if he wants to get the glass back. "Haven't you decided enough for me today? What else do you wanna have? My pocket change?" His voice is hoarse and rough and he refuses to look Maes in the eye again, stares at some imaginary spot on the table.  
  
"You. Right now I want you. I will take your sorry ass with me and we will talk, whether you want it or not." Immediately, Hughes grabs him by the arm and heaves him upright.  
  
He is almost surprised at how easy it is to drag Roy with him, out of the bar and into his car.  
  
__  
  
During the drive Hughes peers over at him out of the corners of his eye: Roy hasn't been talking to him at all, he is silent as he rests his head against the window. He is very pale, but Hughes thinks that might be because of the alcohol. And the lighting. And the depression. And everything else. With a sigh, Hughes grabs the wheel tighter, even though it's not really necessary, for most people are already at home at this time of day, at home and revelling in their past-time activities or taking care of their families. Just like Hughes is doing right now.  
  
Finally, he takes his eyes off the road, but only for a second. "You're very quiet," he says to break the silence between them. Silence is something strange, he thinks. Especially between the both of them. Sometimes, it is just there, comfortable like a warm blanket in a chilly night, because sometimes there is really is nothing to say, there is only their shared love and trust and warmth.  
  
Now, however, the silence is cold and icy, and Hughes feels the small hairs on his arms rise despite the thick fabric of his uniform jacket. "I'm not used to you being this quiet," he tries again. "Especially not when you're drunk. I'm rather used to you being whiney and complaining the whole time, that's usually your schtick." He glances at him again. Roy stiffens a little, just a small twitch of his muscles. "Don't you want to tell me I'm mean and an asshole and how I should just-"  
  
"Stop!" Roy orders, gritting his teeth, nothing more than a hiss. He sounds like a wounded animal.  
  
"I expected "Shut up", but that works, too, of course, so-"  
  
"Stop!" Roy hisses again, more urgent this time."Stop the damn car!"  
  
Hughes merely takes the time to blink in confusion, and immediately does as Roy has told him to.  
  
The tires squeal, and as soon as the car stops, Roy opens the door to stick his head outside and into the cold night air, hurrying out of the car.  
  
And then, well, he loudly vomits all over the hood of Hughes' brand new car.  
  
Hughes averts his eyes and sighs, slowly getting out on the street himself. He deserves that, he tells himself, and he's thankful that Roy hasn't puked inside of his car. Yeah, he deserves that, he thinks as he walks over to Roy, who's emptying the contents of his stomach all over metal and dirt and pebble underneath them, digging clenched fingers into the passenger door. Slowly, carefully, he places a hand on Roy's back, on the spot between his shoulder blades, and rubs them as gently as he always does when he has to calm Roy down.  
  
Roy's body twitches underneath his palm, but he doesn't protest, doesn't try to get away from the touch. Well, to be fair, he kind of is occupied with other things right now.  
  
As there's nothing left to come out, as he merely chokes dryly and the acrid smell of vomit mingles with the clear night air, Hughes sighs again. "I don't wanna say I told you so, but-"  
  
" _Shut the fuck up, Maes!"_  
  
The words are weak and breathless and accompanied by another coughing fit, but they nevertheless make Maes smile like an idiot. Because now he's Maes again and not Hughes, and _that_ is a start, something he can work with.  
  
Because sometimes, he thinks of Roy Mustang as he thinks of a used tissue: No matter what happens, you can always wash out the stains and the bad thoughts, if you try hard enough. And then you can once more carry it close to your heart where it belongs.  
  
"Come on, Roy. Let's get you home." With gentle force he pushes Roy back in the car and shuts the door behind him, makes an effort not to stare at his hood. With luck, a sudden burst of rain would miraculously appear and solve the problem by itself. Otherwise ... he will have no other choice but to take care of it himself. But not now. Now it's not important.  
  
"Why are you doing this, anyway?" Roy asks quietly, while being nice enough to breathe in the other direction. "Don't need your pity."  
  
"Ah, there's the whining! So glad to see you're back to being yourself!" Maes grins at Roy shooting him a hateful look, and turns the car into Roy's street. "I told you," he says, calmly, carefully. "We need to talk."  
  
"I hate it when you say that," Roy mumbles and fully turns away to look out of the window.  
  
__  
  
Well.  
  
Here they are.  
  
In front of Roy's flat. Maes has unlocked the door, because Roy really isn't capable of doing so himself. He'd only have made enough noise to wake up the whole floor including this strange and creepy neighbour of his. And _that_ hag really wouldn't be of much use to anyone right now. Especially not to Maes, who's automatically wondering just how he managed to avoid her until today.  
  
But this one is a question for another day, for now he is far to occupied with helping Roy inside and to his small sofa, gently making sure he sits his stupid ass down.  
  
"Wait here," he orders, raising his index finger to emphasize his words, then turns on his heels and makes his way to the kitchen (never fully turning his back on Roy, that man has only been trouble the whole day, so there's no way Maes will let him be stupid _again_ ), filling a mug with water. When he returns, he shoves it into Roy's hands, telling him to drink all of it in small gulps.  
  
"You're not my mother," Roy grumbles, but does as he's told.  
  
"Yes, and you can thank all the existent or non-existent deities for that, Mustang, because she'd have rinsed your mouth with soap already."  
  
Roy grimaces in disgust.  
  
Maes tries to think. Quickly. "Listen," is what he manages to get out. "Listen, I'm sorry."  
  
Roy scoffs and glances up to him out of tired, reddened eyes. "Don't be. I always knew you'd choose your family before me."  
  
Wait. What? Maes winces as if struck. He opens his mouth, closes it again, usure of what to say, what to think at all. The only sound managing to stumble over his lips is an unhappy, defeated one. He feels like tearing out his hair. "Roy," he beings to say and rests a hand on Roy's cheek. It's reassuring to notice Roy doesn't flinch away. "Roy," he says one more time. "Is that really how you think of me? Of yourself?"  
  
"What are you-"  
  
"Roy, you are part of my family," Maes tells him gently, the pad of his thumb brushing over his left cheekbone. "Always been, always will be."  
  
Roy scoffs one more time, and now he actually does turn his head away. "Sure."  
  
"Roy, I-"  
  
"You tell that to yourself. Does it make us an incest thing, then? I'm like a fucking brother to you and that's why you can't fuck me anymore?" Maes has no words, and when Roy looks up at him, he seems so young, younger than Maes has ever seen him before, so incredibly helpless and hopeless. "'s that why you broke up with me?"  
  
There is so much he wants to say. Far too much, actually. So much that he doesn't know where to start, other than to simply wrap his arms around Roy and pull him close, resting a hand in his hair. "Shh," he whispers when Roy tries to fight his hug. "Don't. Just ... just let me explain."  
  
"What's there to explain?" His words are nothing more than a muffled sounds against Maes' chest and shoulder, but he slumps into himself, burying his face closer into the crook of his neck.  
  
_I'm so sorry,_ Maes wants to say. _I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. And so are you. I love you._  
  
"Do you know what day it is, Roy?"  
  
"Tuesday."  
  
"No, not ... not that. The date." Roy doesn't have to say anything to this, and when he eventually shakes his head, Maes sighs tiredly.. "Course you don't. It would have made everything so much easier, and things are never easy with you asshole." He gives Roy a quick peck on the temple. "It's the first of April, Roy. I'm not breaking up with you. I never was. It's ... April Fool's."  
  
Roy is silent. For one moment. For another one. Maes isn't really sure if he has actually heard him, if he's understood any of Maes' words in his clouded brain.  
  
But then he shoves Maes away and his eyes shine bright with a fire that indicates Roy fucking Mustang is suddenly sober again. Which is, in this case, maybe not a good thing. At all. He bares his teeth like an animal close to devouring its prey. "Out!" is all he says.  
  
"... Roy, I ... "  
  
"Out!" Roy repeats, louder this time. The hand he's still holding the mug shakes a little, as if he wants to chuck it at Maes' face. His fingers twitch. He licks his dry lips. "I will get up now," he says slowly, ever so slowly, making sure every word registers in Maes' head. "And I will fetch my gloves."  
  
Uh-oh.  
  
"And if you're not out of this door by the time I get them, I will burn you to ash, Hughes, I swear I will-"  
  
Maes decides not to wait for Roy to finish his sentence.  
  
Instead, he runs as fast as his legs allow him to.  
  
__  
  
"Well," Maes concludes and looks up at Ed's face, seeing the horror in his eyes that Maes himself only knows too well. "And that's why Roy hates Tuesdays. I mean ... the first of April."  
  
"But ... but that ... "  
  
"Was totally idiotic?"  
  
"Yes, and ... "  
  
"I shouldn't have done any of it? Yes. Yes, I know."  
  
Ed shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. His eyes wander around the room before they settle back on Maes' face. "Don't you think he's overreacting? I mean ..."  
  
"I know what you mean, Ed," Maes says quickly before one of them can say something stupid. "But I've also known this mess of a man for fifteen years, and I know that I should have known better." As Ed continues to look confused and overwhelmed, Maes sighs softly. "Ishval has changed him."  
  
Ed snorts and for a moment he looks as young as he is, young and incredulous and disbelieving. "Yeah, I bet that's what the Ishvalans have said, too."  
  
Maes just smiles a tired smile because he knows words like these already, and because he's had that same discussion so many times in his life. With himself. With Roy. "We were following orders, Ed. I know," he says quickly, because Ed has opened his mouth again, "that this is not an excuse, and I don't intend it to be one. We were following orders, and they were wrong, and we were too scared and cowardly to disobey, even if it would have been the right thing."  
"... so?"  
  
"It's broken him. Ninety percent of Roy Mustang is guilt, the other ten percent are evenly split between his ego and his ambition. That's why he's working so hard, Ed. To make sure Ishval never happens again. It's ... become his meaning of life, and I promised to make sure he'd achieve his goal. I promised to accompany him every step of the way. And I think ... we never talked about that day again, but I think he was scared of having to go that path alone. "  
  
Ed seems to think about it and then nods very slowly. “I guess. I guess it makes sense. Why he's so wound up all the time."  
  
"That's an understatement if I've ever seen one."  
  
They both laugh about it, a brief, secret moment only between them. Then Ed frowns. "Have you ever returned the gun to him?"  
  
"I had to, eventually. I tried to avoid Roy for a week or two like the plague, and then, one day, I came home and this fucking bastard was sitting in my living room, sipping tea with my wife, and both of them were agreeing with each other that I was a fucking idiot."  
  
"So that's when you gave him the gun back?"  
  
"No, that's when he dragged me to the guest bedroom, tied me up and angrily rode my dick for hours until I thought it would fall off."  
  
Now Ed laughs again, and Maes finds himself smiling, too. "I guess," Ed says. "I guess the bastard doesn't have a single funny bone in his body, but yeah, he's a kinky piece of shit."  
  
Maes just shrugs awkwardly and grins. "You could say that." Then he gets serious again and rubs his neck, looks aside for a moment before finally looking Ed in the face. "Hey, can you do me a favor?"  
  
Ed leans his head awkwardly, his hair falls a little in the face.  
"Go and hug our boyfriend for a bit, okay?"  
  
"Heh. Can do."  
  
Isn't it nice how quickly their world can be alright again, even for nothing more than a few minutes?


End file.
